


My Name's Mabel

by ultimatequesadilla



Category: Gravity Falls, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, but dipper frickin died apparently, i guess i should tag this as implied character death huh, nothing too bad, well there's implied character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 13:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13459224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatequesadilla/pseuds/ultimatequesadilla
Summary: I've had this document sitting in my google drive for 2 years, I figured I'll never finish it but I actually really like how what I had turned out so I might as well post it.Dipper's friggin dead; Mabel ends up at The Burrow somehow.





	My Name's Mabel

The sky was cloudy. Dark and grey and lifeless. A cat screeched and ran off in some indeterminable direction. A raven cawed. The only sound was the whistle of the wind and the girl’s footsteps. She pulled her hands into her sweater-sleeves, hugging them against her chest. She shut her eyes, breathed deeply and continued walking. How long had it been? She had lost count. Days, a week at most. Her shoulder still throbbed and stung, and when she glanced she saw at the edges of the fraying tear in her sweater a fringe of red.   
She had to find  _ something. _ She had seen an old tire a few hours ago, a broom before that. There was civilization nearby.   
The only question was, would they help her. She was helpless--the wrong sort of people could hurt her or worse.   
She had dealt with the wrong sort of people--though she couldn’t call them people, really, more like monsters--and here she was now.   
Alone.   
She had never been alone.  Until...no, she shook her head, she wouldn’t think about it, she would find a way back and everything would be just as it was, she wasn’t...he wasn’t…   
She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Blinked. Anything to erase the horrific image that was plastered against her memory for eternity.   
She kept walking, pulled the brim of her hat down over her forehead. Her eyes stung and she felt the beginnings of tears on her cheeks.    
Time seemed to pass quickly and slowly all at once. The wind was cool yet monotonous, and there was no break from the fields and the dark and the pain.    
Until she saw it. A light. She blinked, squinted. It was warm, like a fire rather than an electric bulb. Almost of their own accord her legs sped up, her stride increased despite her exhaustion and hunger. A silhouette came into view, crooked and ragged but still that of a house, a car, a light.   
People.   
She stumbled toward the dwelling, past the apparent junk that lined the yard. A gnome, more wrinkly than she was used to seeing but still recognizable, leapt away and beneath a leafy plant that was unfamiliar to her.   
Before she was ten feet from the door, it opened with a creak. She froze in her tracks, nearly falling over and blinking in the sudden bright light. A kindly woman stood, her hair in a frizzy ginger halo around her head, looking down worriedly. The woman pursed her lips, stepped down the front stairs and reached down to help the girl to her feet. The girl nodded, taking her hand.   
“A bit late to be up and about, don’t you think?” The woman smiled, though her eyes still showed concern. “Come on in, dear. We’ll get you fixed up, get you a hot meal. I made extra, was expecting some folks.”   
The girl nodded, standing up. She couldn’t help but lean against the woman, nearly falling over again. She was  _ tired.  _ She dragged herself up the steps and into the room. The various oddities barely registered at the edges of her mind--was that soup stirring itself?--as she was led to a chair at the cluttered table. The woman bustled off to tend to the pot--which  _ was _ stirring itself. Seemed ridiculous to be cooking at whatever ungodly hour this was.   
“What’s your name, dear?” she asked. The girl looked up, then down again. She reached up and gently took her hat from her head and held it in front of her. Its blue and white segments were marred by a splatter of crimson across one side, the embroidered tree in the center turned red.   
“Mabel.” She bit her lip. “My name’s Mabel.”   
“Mabel. That’s a lovely name. You can call me Molly if you like, but most just call me Mrs. Weasley, it seems to be easier somehow--”   
Mrs. Weasley’s voice seemed to fade into the background as Mabel stared at the hat. She hadn’t dared to look at it, hadn’t dared to take it off as if she would lose it somehow if she did.   
She was jarred from her thoughts when a bowl of soup was set on the table in front of her. She put her hat back on her head. Mrs. Weasley patted her on the shoulder.   
“Would you like me to clean that hat? I think I know a good spell to do it.” So she must have known somehow that Mabel wasn’t phased by magic. Figures.   
“NO.” Mabel clutched the hat’s bill and shook her head. “No, it’s fine as it is, really.” She picked up the spoon that was already warm from the soup and took a mouthful. It was  _ delicious _ . After days of nothing but whatever edible plants she had been able to find, it was even better than it no doubt was normally. Mabel took another bite, and another, until her spoon scraped against the bottom of the bowl.    
“Could I--could I have some more?” she said almost in a whisper, not moving. Mrs. Weasley took the bowl and refilled it without comment. 


End file.
